


It gets better.

by YurikoSPN



Series: It's all about Supernatural! [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Reader has no defined gender, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-16 07:04:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YurikoSPN/pseuds/YurikoSPN
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things go wrong on a hunt and the Reader feels like crap afterwards. However, fret not! Dean shows up to save the day!<br/>Based on the following prompt by Team Free Will Imagines: <a href="http://teamfreewillimagines.tumblr.com/post/115712660752">"Imagine coming back home to Dean after being gone from a solo hunt for a couple weeks"</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	It gets better.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a lil’ something I wrote trying to overcome a (very) prolonged writer’s block. Please, be patient with me. English is not my first language and it's been over a year since I last wrote anything. I hope you guys like it! Feedback is always much appreciated!
> 
> My tumblr: [YurikoSPN](http://yurikospn.tumblr.com)

Dean knows, from the moment you set foot into the bunker, that it had been a bad hunt.

The door closes soundlessly behind you as a sign of your ever-present carefulness not to wake them up in the middle of the night; but there’s anguish etched all over your face and an askew gait slowing your pace down. One that you try to, but can’t disguise from his trained eyes hidden in the shadows.

Unaware that you’re being observed by the handsome hunter at such a rare moment of fragility _– the lore book he’s been fishing for completely forgotten between his hands –_ , you hiss through clenched teeth when a surge of pain jabs at the tender spot in your left side; your descend downstairs slow and lacking in its usual grace. 

_… **Crap** , you’ve definitely broken a rib or two this time around._

A steely grip on the rail steadies your wobbly body as, step after step, you breathe in once again the coziness and familiarity of somewhere you can call your own and attempt to reach your bedroom without calling for help.

Even the downsides of that place are now more than welcome: from the peeling walls and stagnant air, all the way to the permanent smell of ancient paper that gets stuck to your clothes and fingertips whenever you have to maneuver the Men of Letters’ valuable archive for all sorts of shady information.

_You love that antique hideout._

_You love the two dorky siblings that live there with you._

But more than anything, words can’t even begin to express your sheer gratitude for how accepting and loving they have been since day one, when your life as a solo hunter was going from bad to worse and they took you in out of nothing but the goodness of their hearts.

_**“Y/N.”** _

Your unstable stroll halts as you whip your head towards the presence calling your name in the darkness. Crumbles of dried grime fall from your face when you brush away a stubborn tear upon seeing Dean stand in his _worn-t-shirt-and-checkered-boxers_ glory on the corner of the library. 

_The Dean Winchester._

_**Your Dean.** _

Right then, all efforts to remain silent collapse, a duffel bag slips from your right shoulder and you hide your face in both hands, falling to your knees in heap of pain, regret, loneliness and freshly made scars.

_His name, a plaintive whisper between your lips._

The tome Dean’s holding hits the oak table with a solid _‘thump’_ as he rushes towards you and kneels by your side, promptly enveloping your body in his earthy, calming scent and healing embrace. Your arms find their way around his waist and you sob the suffering away into his improvised pajamas, dropping down your defenses without hesitation.

“Dean… I-I couldn’t …I d-didn’t…”

_“Just breathe, sweetheart. I’m right here with you.”_

It’s rather uncanny of you to be so openly sentimental, but in-between the windstorms and hurricanes of your life as a novice hunter, Dean has always been the safe harbor to which you could return. The one you could open your heart to without fear of being judged or looked down upon.

“…She was only a _**child**_ , Dean,” a choke gets caught in your throat, your nails digging crescent moons into his freckled skin, “The w-werewolf tore a little girl’s chest open and I… I couldn’t save her in time…”

The rest of the sentence dies down on its way out, but Dean translates it from your look of hopelessness as something in the lines of: _‘I’m a failure as a hunter.’_

_“Shh… I’ve got you, babe,”_ he presses a soft kiss to your temple and adjusts the hug not to hurt you, running his calloused fingers through your hair and the palm of his other hand across the expanse of your back in an affectionate, consoling manner. 

_“It’s alright… You can’t always win, but what’s important is that you tried and you’ll keep trying to do what’s right. You’re strong, you did your best and I’m proud of you.”_

Your heartfelt weeping doesn’t stop until half an hour later, when you give in to the fatigue striking your muscles and curl against him out of instinct. Dean’s caresses never cease, and they almost lull you into a peaceful dreamland where your parents are still alive and monsters are just colored prints in a children’s book.

_“Come on,”_ his voice is but a gravelly hush as he holds your face with both hands and kisses your lips tenderly, looking at you with pure adoration behind the distinct, almost hand-crafted emerald gleam of his eyes.

_“Tell you what,”_ Dean gives you a contagious grin, and you find yourself smiling back in spite of the dread corroding you from the inside, _“We’re gonna take a hot shower together, I’ll make you some of Sam’s rabbit food and then you’re gonna get a decent night’s sleep to start tomorrow good as new. What do you say?”_

With a nod as enthusiastic as you can muster about the offer, given your current condition, you chuckle weakly at Dean’s rather convincing attempt to make you feel better, despite his famous distaste towards his brother’s culinary choices. 

“Alright…”

Sore and defeated, you wrap yourself around his warm body and hide your face in the crook of his neck as he gingerly scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bathroom, humming your favorite song along the way.

Under normal circumstances, Dean would roll his eyes and playfully give you a good smack on the head for spewing corny lines at four in the morning, but judging by how he holds you closer after your breathy murmur against his skin, you can only guess he shares the feeling.

_**“...It’s nice to be home.”** _


End file.
